


Silk Pelts and Silver Bullets

by LandOfMistAndSecrets



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, Birthday Sex, Dissociation, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Horny Dissociation, M/M, Porn With Maybe Some Plot? Maybe, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Secret Relationship, White Heron Cup, anyway felix tries to do a sexy dance, but like extremely horny, dancer felix, there we go thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22235350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandOfMistAndSecrets/pseuds/LandOfMistAndSecrets
Summary: Felix represents the Blue Lions in the White Heron Cup.Also, distracts the hell out of Dimitri.(Or: everyone in dimilix fandom is doing dancer felix sexydance fics, so here's my offering.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 15
Kudos: 286





	Silk Pelts and Silver Bullets

It made a certain amount of sense, Dimitri supposed, that the professor would choose Felix to represent their house in the White Heron Cup. _Sword forms are a bit like dancing, aren’t they?_ Mercedes had giggled behind her hands, and Annette had laughed, too, nodding with cheeks near as red as her hair, and Dimitri had not quite caught the joke, exactly, but he had to admit that the observation held true. He had often thought such things, himself, watching Felix -- from a distance, usually -- as he sweated and shifted between forms and stances, practice blade in hand, moving swiftly and gracefully as any dancer ought. 

Felix, of course, didn’t agree, and Dimitri wasn’t foolish enough to argue the point with him outright. 

He was, however, foolish enough to try and catch glimpses of this new sort of training, whenever he could. 

It wasn’t so difficult, when Felix met with the professor in the courtyard. They were out in the open, after all, and it was simple enough to lean on the sill of a second story window and watch -- just a little bit guiltily -- as their professor guided him through the motions. They began with a simple waltz, sweeping across the courtyard without the aid of any music to guide them, and Dimitri let his chin rest on his hands and fought down a squirm of desperate jealousy, even as his eyes bounced eagerly between Felix’s dexterous form and their professor’s… mostly impassive expression. He could swear that he saw the corners of her mouth twitch up, now and again, belying her fondness and amusement as she hardly ever did. 

His lessons with Dorothea were far more difficult. Though she had been nominated to represent the Black Eagles, she did not hesitate to offer her coaching, either out of a sense of good sportsmanship, or perhaps a more shrewd and mercenary calculation that made Dimitri’s stomach squirm with all sorts of unwarranted worries. Felix wasn’t the sort to fall head over heels for feminine grace and beauty -- he knew that firsthand that his preferences fell, ah, elsewhere -- but Dorothea was an exquisitely beautiful woman, and notably persistent, too. 

They practiced together in the student lounge, with the door firmly shut, and no matter how many times Dimitri paced up or down the hall, he could never manage to overhear a single word spoken between them. 

Until one day, when Felix threw the thing open early and caught him there, pacing just outside the door. 

“Felix,” he gasped, eyes wide. No believable excuses jumped conveniently to mind. 

Felix rolled his eyes at him. He glanced back over his shoulder, and Dimitri could see her in there, Dorothea, with her hands over her mouth and her eyes sparkling with mirth, and he wondered -- had she known? Had someone told her? Professor Manuela, perhaps. Her offices were hardly so far.

“Dimitri,” Felix said, low and foreboding, and everything else fled his mind in the rush of pleased warmth that always accompanied Felix saying his name. Felix yanked the door shut behind him, blocking them from Dorothea’s view, and strode forward with purpose. He shot a quick glance down the hall, confirming no one else was there, and then he grabbed Dimitri by the lapels and shoved him, hard, pushing him so that his back hit the stone. 

All the breath left his body, and not just from the impact. Felix leaned in close, hissing in his ear. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Hovering out here like some sort of spurned suitor! How am I supposed to explain this to her --” he gestured back at the door, “let alone to anyone else who might stumble across your ridiculous vigil?” 

“I,” Dimitri said, stupidly, swallowing hard. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted, sheepishly. 

Felix stepped back, and gave him a long, exasperated look. “I’m not interested in her,” he said. 

Dimitri colored brilliantly, heat sweeping up to the tips of his ears. “I know,” he said, though the relief that crashed through him said otherwise. 

“Do you?” Felix snapped. “Do you, really? Are you sure? Why else would you be eavesdropping on these lessons, unless you thought there might be some sort of gossip to overhear?” He pushed an accusing finger into Dimitri’s chest, and, before he could think better of it, Dimitri reached up and took his hand in both of his own, covering Felix’s and linking their fingers together. Felix’s eyes went wide, and he shot another panicked look up and down the hall, but of course, there was still no one there to see. 

“Perhaps I am simply eager to catch a glimpse of your dancing,” he teased, because teasing Felix usually flustered him, and he’d rather have Felix angry because he was flustered instead of angry because he was -- well, _angry._

Color crept up Felix’s neck and suffused his face. He blew out a shaky breath, and then, begrudgingly, gave Dimitri’s hand a reluctant squeeze. “You’ll see it when everyone else does,” he muttered. “The entire monastery will! Isn’t that the point?” He shook him off, then, and took a careful step back. “Stop hovering like this. You’re making it obvious.” 

“I’d like to make it even more obvious, for a moment, if you don’t mind.” 

“I do mind,” he said, but when Dimitri stepped forward and took him by the shoulders, he made no move to escape. Instead, he simply tilted his chin up and puffed out his pretty pink cheeks. His hair was a mess, escaping its tie in loose tangles, and Dimitri grinned at him and smoothed a strand out of his eyes and leaned down for a kiss. 

Felix indulged him, just for a moment, quick and chaste and not at all satisfying -- and then he shoved him away, hard. Dimitri stumbled back, his lips tingling where they’d touched. 

“Boar,” Felix growled, loud enough for Dorothea to hear in the lounge. 

Dimitri held up his hands. “I’m going,” he promised. Then, quieter: “Perhaps, later tonight --” 

Felix’s hand went to the pommel of his sword, and Dimitri took a quick step back, easing away from him. “I’m going!” he repeated, and then he turned and practically fled down the hall. 

He couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face… but he did try to be more circumspect, after that. 

It was difficult, especially when he passed by Felix’s room in the evenings to find the door firmly shut, and the sound of feminine voices speaking from within. It took everything in him not to drop everything and press his ear to the door like an errant child. Occasionally, if he was lucky, he could time his return in the evenings so that he caught a visitor on their way out -- Mercedes, once, not in her Academy uniform, but rather, a stunning garment that was more scarf than dress. Silk fluttered as she brushed past him, and he swore he heard her murmur, _don’t tell._

Annette, once, who stammered to explain herself, though she at least was still wearing sensible clothes! “I didn’t want to close the door,” she insisted, perhaps reading suspicion in his sour expression. “He doesn’t want anyone to see him practice!” 

“Funny,” Dimitri found himself saying in ponderous response. “It feels like everyone has seen it, now, except me.” 

“I’m sure you’re a fine dancer,” Annette assured him, even as she backed away from him like she couldn’t wait to escape. “Obviously you would be, you’re --” She winced, gesturing up and down at all of him, and then she laughed, high and nervous. “Just don’t push him, okay? He’s embarrassed!” 

Dimitri folded his arms over his chest. “Do you think he’ll win?”

Annette let out a little squeak, from which Dimitri could glean neither a yes nor a no, and then she turned and fled down the hall like the far end was on fire.

Dimitri could only shake his head and watch her go.

The evening before the contest, he heard a knock -- not at his own door, but at Felix’s, next door. He looked up from his desk, a little spike of annoyance darting through him. In truth, he was a bit frustrated with the whole arrangement. Before their professor had chosen Felix for this silly task, they’d found plenty of time to meet one another in relative privacy -- at first, after the mess in Remire, simply to talk. The revelation that Felix was worried for him had touched him to his core, and the things that had followed afterward… 

Well. He felt that he’d only recently gotten his friend back, even if they were most certainly something more than friends, now, and playing second fiddle to a dance competition, of all things… stung, somewhat. He missed talking to him. He missed kissing him, and heat swept up into his face as he considered everything else he missed, too, following from that. 

And, all things considered, he didn’t understand why Felix never asked him to dance. He was the crown prince! He’d learned to dance young, and he’d taken to the lessons well enough, and perhaps he was not the best dancer at the monastery, but he was certainly suitable enough to practice with, surely!

He missed talking. And kissing, and all the rest, too, but strangely, it was the talking that he found he missed most.

Well, he thought, with a quiet, private huff of exasperated breath. The competition was tomorrow, and then it would all be done. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from staring just a little bit pathetically at the wall that separated them. 

And then, from the other side, he thought he heard a muffled exclamation. It sounded suspiciously like Felix swearing loud enough for the Goddess herself to overhear. He blinked, once, and then he shot a guilty look around, which was absurd, because he was in his own damned room, and there was no one there to see him acting childish. 

He shuffled up to the wall, and pressed his ear against the stone. 

“--Absolutely cannot make me,” he heard Felix say.

Soft muttering answered him, placid tones that could only have been their professor, cool and even tempered even now. 

“That is completely ridiculous!” Felix replied to whatever she had said, and then -- Dimitri’s mouth fell open -- he thought he heard the professor laugh. 

“Yes, very funny,” Felix snapped at her. “Whatever. Give it here. Let’s all have a good chuckle at my expense, and then never speak of this again. Please.” 

More quiet murmuring, soothing, now. It must have worked, because whatever Felix said next, Dimitri couldn’t quite catch through the stone, and so he turned his head and leaned his forehead against it and sighed, heavily. 

His curiosity burned. 

He waited as long as he could stand it, until the murmurs ceased and the soft click of Felix’s door signaled his visitor’s exit, and then a little longer still. Some plausible deniability surely couldn’t hurt. 

And then he took a deep breath and let his pacing take him to the room next door. 

He knocked, quietly, not particularly wishing to alert the entire hall to the fact that Felix had yet another visitor. From within, he heard a great deep exasperated sigh, and then -- he took a surprised step back -- the handle turned and a pair of narrow amber eyes stared up at him through a narrow crack in the doorway. The annoyance in that gaze melted immediately into wide-eyed shock, and Dimitri gave him a tremulous, apologetic smile, waving hesitantly into the gap. 

Felix opened the door a little further, far enough to push his head out and glance up and down the empty hall. “What,” he demanded, hoarsely. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

Dimitri just looked at him, helplessly. What was he doing? “I…” he began, raising a hand to scratch bashfully at the back of his neck. “I couldn’t help but overhear…” 

Felix shifted back behind his door and glared up at him, one hand on his hip. He raised his eyebrows, all exasperated expectancy. 

Dimitri steeled himself, and pushed forward. “Was that the professor?” he asked, fully aware of how ridiculous he was being. “Last minute suggestions, for your performance?” He flashed what he hoped was a very charming, very convincing sort of smile. 

Felix sighed at him. He pushed open the door. “Come in,” Felix muttered, and in response, Dimitri’s heart sprouted wings in his chest and took eager flight. Felix gave him one last wary look, up and down, and then turned away, gesturing for him to follow. “Close that behind you,” he added, as though he would have been so careless as to do otherwise!

Carefully, quietly, Dimitri slipped in after him, and pulled the door shut behind him. 

And then he latched it, too, just for good measure. 

He hadn’t actually been in Felix’s room all that often, not even since their recent, ah, reconciliation. All things considered, if the choice of potential listening neighbors was between Sylvain and the future Duke Reigan, the correct answer was painful, yet obvious. Sylvain might tease them, but Dimitri was reasonably sure he could be counted on at least not to blackmail them for political favors! 

Not that he’d come here planning to do anything worth listening in on. 

Not exactly. 

He cleared his throat. Felix turned and tilted his head and crossed his arms at him, lips pursed, his annoyance unmistakable. Dimitri shifted on his feet, and the awkward silence between them stretched. 

He coughed. “So… do you think you’ll win?” he asked, wincing at the way his voice pitched just a little too high. 

Felix’s lips thinned, and he shrugged one shoulder, all disinterested bravado. “It won’t be easy,” he said. Dimitri nodded, once… and then went perfectly, awkwardly still, his eyes fixed on Felix’s bed. 

It would have been distracting anyway, for all the obvious, embarrassing reasons, but now…

“Are those… yours?” he asked, his gaze flickering back to Felix’s face. 

He was looking a little pinker than he had been, Dimitri noticed. Felix let out a little scoff, sucked in a deep breath, and then nodded, unhappily. “Apparently,” he said. “The professor just dropped them off. I’m supposed to make sure they fit, before the contest.” 

Dimitri stared at the garments laid out over the bed. They were thin and gauzy in southern Adrestian style, white and royal blue and trimmed with flashing bits of silver. Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine the way they were meant to be worn, the way they might look on Felix. They would be revealing, for certain! Not that he hadn’t seen Felix, before, but something about the thought of him in such garments -- dancing --

“I know,” Felix said, flatly, like he could read his mind. 

Dimitri looked at him. He was fully flushed, now, arms crossed tight over his chest, chin down, gaze stuck firmly to the floor. Strands of hair fell into his eyes and over his face. He blew out an exasperated breath. “This can’t be over soon enough,” he muttered, and then he strode with purpose toward the bed and those garments. “It’s like they were tailor made specifically to embarrass me,” he complained, holding them up. 

“Have… have you tried them on, yet?” Dimitri heard himself say, the words flying out of his mouth before he could rein them in. 

Felix cut him a sharp look. “No,” he said. 

“Are you going to?” Dimitri pressed, barely resisting the urge to wipe his damp palms off on his pants. Goddess above.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Felix said, rolling his eyes. “Go ahead. Have a good laugh at my expense. You won’t be the last. Sylvain might never stop.” 

“Sylvain is an idiot,” Dimitri said. “Here. Let me help.” 

Felix made a face at him, and then shot a hesitant look between him and the garments in his hands, his fingers tightening in the thin fabric. “I can dress myself,” he insisted. “Besides. These are delicate, obviously. The last thing I need is to have to explain any tears to the professor, tomorrow.” 

“Ah,” Dimitri said, softly. “True,” he muttered, a touch mournfully. He dropped his hands, defeated. “I’d hate to ruin your performance before it’s even begun.” He licked his lips. “Still. You did say you would try it on, first…” 

Felix wrinkled his nose at him, and held the expression for five full seconds before letting his breath out in a long, heavy, audible exhalation. He shook his head. “Turn around,” he ordered. 

“Felix,” Dimitri protested. It wasn’t as though he’d never seen --! 

“Do it,” Felix said, his brow creasing deep. “Turn around, or get out. Your choice.” 

Dimitri turned around. He clasped his hands behind his back, polite as you please, and leaned back on his heels, biting his tongue. Fine. Felix made a pleased sound, and then -- Gods, the whisper of cloth, the gentle chimes as he shifted the garment in his hands, the squeak and sigh of the mattress as he presumably sat upon it! He bit his tongue so hard he nearly drew blood. It was excruciating, listening to every little movement he made, hearing him hum softly under his breath as he rid himself of his nightclothes and presumably pulled on that beautiful, gauzy, revealing little costume, instead. 

Dimitri rocked from his heels to the flat of his feet and back again, sweating in his own nightclothes. “How is it?” He winced. The question practically squeaked out of his throat. 

“Don’t be impatient,” Felix scolded. The mattress creaked again. Dimitri squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his face up, breathing deep through his nose. His mind tried to run away with it, regardless -- Felix, posed for him on that bed of his, draped in gauzy silks and silver bangles, his hair loose and falling over his shoulders, his back arched just so -- 

He opened his eyes. Damn it! 

“Can you blame me?” he asked, weakly. “I’m sure you must look stunning.” He paused. “Moreso than usual, that is.” 

Felix made a sound that might have been laughter, a scoff, or both. “You’re trying flattery, now? On me?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dimitri said. “It’s only the truth. And everyone likes to be appreciated, Felix.” 

“For some things more than others,” Felix muttered. 

“Let me see you,” Dimitri begged. Felix sucked in an audible breath, and the mattress creaked one more time, those tantalizing metallic chimes accompanying the sound of it. Dimitri held his breath. 

“Fine,” Felix said. “Don’t laugh.” 

Permission secured, he spun about, quick enough to nearly trip over his own feet. 

Felix stood there before him, draped in silk and silver and gauze, tugging self consciously at a glinting bangle latched about one wrist. Spots of color sat high on his cheeks, and his eyes were focused on a distant point past Dimitri’s shoulder, never looking directly at him. The fabric hung in delicate ruffles from waist and shoulder, clinging precisely where it was meant to, exposing one long, muscled leg all the way to mid-thigh. Dimitri followed the line of the cut in the fabric, there, trailing his gaze over his silver-trimmed waistline, and then up over the buckled fall of fabric at his shoulder, accentuating the curve of his neck.

“Well?” Felix demanded, when the silence stretched overlong. 

Dimitri let out his breath in a messy little gasp. “Beautiful,” he managed, flicking his gaze to Felix’s eyes, willing him to return his look and glimpse the honestly with which he said it. Instead, of course, Felix simply hunched his shoulders and turned further away, snorting softly. 

“Please,” he muttered. “It’s ridiculous.” He held out his arms. Silk swirled and silver chimed. “This entire contest is a farce. White Heron Cup.” He made a face. “I suppose I should just be glad it isn’t trimmed with feathers.” 

Dimitri took a step forward, and Felix straightened up and shot him a wary look. Dimitri held up his hands, soothing. “I’ll be careful,” he said, practically pleading. 

“Careful with -- what?” Felix blinked at him, and it was -- adorable, actually, the way he genuinely did not seem to know. Dimitri closed the space between them, reaching out to take him carefully by the shoulders. The fabric was soft beneath his fingers, silky smooth, and Felix turned his face up, his eyes clear and wide and unguarded, for once, and Dimitri thought with absolute certainty that no one, not any of the Saints or even the Goddess herself, could possibly have expected him to resist such overwhelming temptation. He was only a man, red blooded as any other! 

The sound Felix made when Dimitri pressed his palm against the line of his jaw, tilting his face just right -- heaven. The soft press of his mouth, and then, after just a moment’s hesitation, the way Felix parted his lips for him, inviting him closer… Dimitri groaned softly into his warmth, slipping one hand down over Felix’s shoulder to press flat against the small of his back, instead. Felix’s tongue met his almost shyly, and Dimitri pulled him forward, pressing their bodies together, and -- 

Felix shoved him back, hard. Their lips made an obscene, distracting sort of sound as they parted, and then they just stood there facing one another, lips wet, staring and panting. 

“We can be quiet,” Dimitri said, pleading, already tracing the line of Felix’s thoughts.

Felix let out a short, incredulous little laugh. “No, we can’t,” he said, and the simple truth with which he said it, and all that implied about his own feelings, his own desires... Dimitri dragged a hand over his face with a desperate little groan.

“Felix,” he breathed. “My room, then. We can…” 

“It’s not even that late,” Felix hissed at him, stepping further back. “Have you lost your mind entirely?” He put his hands on his hips, glaring. “Dimitri,” he complained. “They’re just clothes. If you can’t control yourself now, I can’t imagine how you’ll act at the actual contest!” 

Dimitri dropped his hands. He flexed his fingers at his sides, slowly. “I can dance, you know,” he said. “You know that. And yet, not once did you think to ask…” 

Felix blinked at him, his brow furrowing. “Don’t presume to tell me what I did or didn’t think,” he said. 

“But…” 

“Of course I thought of asking you.” He rolled his eyes, and then he gestured about the room as though pointing out something obvious. “I realized right away, the flaw in that plan.” 

“What flaw? Did you think I’d refuse to help?” 

“No,” Felix sighed at him, dropping his gaze. “I knew you’d be plenty eager. You know, contrary to what you might think, I do intend to win.” 

“I -- of course you do.” 

“And Dorothea is very good. She won’t be easy to beat.” 

“So --” 

“So,” Felix sniffed, “If I intended to win, and I do, I actually needed to practice, damn you!” He held up a hand and shook his finger at him, accusing. “What do you think would have happened, if I’d invited you to dance, Dimitri? Hm?” He glared, his gaze scathing. “How much practice would we have managed, do you think, before you started with your compliments, and your kissing, and --” he gestured, again to the entire room around them, and without hardly even thinking about it, Dimitri stepped forward and caught his hands. Felix’s mouth twisted, and he stared defiantly up at him, that crease between his brows only deepening further. 

Dimitri laughed.

He tried to keep quiet -- Claude was still next door, after all -- but, Gods, the way he looked, the matter of fact way he said such things! How could he not laugh? Laugh, and pull Felix closer, too, until he was flush against him once more, all that fine soft silk bunching and sliding beneath his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely and honestly, even as he put his hands firmly on Felix’s shoulders and stepped forward, walking him backward until his back hit the wall. “I admit, I didn’t think of that at all. You’re right.” He threaded their fingers together, his heart beating in his throat, so fast it made him dizzy. “I can hardly resist you,” he whispered, gazing down at him. 

“Damn it,” Felix muttered, pushing back against his grip. “Dimitri. Hey. _Boar._ ” He reached up, even as Dimitri bent forward, full of purpose, and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Dimitri made a surprised sound, and then a pained one as Felix yanked his head backward, away from him. “I may not like these,” he snapped, “But I’m not about to let you tear them off me like some crazed beast!” 

Dimitri reached back and caught his wrist. Reluctantly, Felix loosened his grip on his hair. 

And then, just for a moment, his expression took on an almost sly bent. “At least,” he said, conversationally, “Not before the contest.” 

“Hah,” Dimitri exhaled, and then he stepped back, though everything in him wanted to press his luck further. “And after?”

Felix looked up at him. Crossed his arms. “We’ll see,” he said. And then his gaze flickered down, and his lips quirked up into a familiar smirk. Dimitri swallowed, hard. There was no point in trying for decency. He was fully hard in his pants, and the thin fabric of his nightclothes did just about nothing to conceal it. The loose, fluttering fabric of Felix’s costume, on the other hand, revealed nothing.

It hardly seemed fair. 

“Go back to your room,” Felix murmured, and he punctuated the statement with a light little push, and meaningful glance toward the wall he shared with the future Duke Reigan. “I’ll follow you,” he added, softly. “Just give me a minute.” 

“A minute,” Dimitri repeated, his voice faint. 

Felix snapped his fingers in front of his face. “If you think you can last that long,” he teased, and -- Gods, but everything in him wanted to just -- lift him up and carry him to that bed of his, and -- 

He swallowed, hard. Nodded. “Felix…” he breathed, practically reverent. 

“Go,” Felix insisted, pushing him again, and this time, reluctantly, Dimitri went. 

True to his word, Felix didn’t leave him waiting long. 

*

He was gone again before daybreak. 

It was the responsible thing to do; to wake early and sneak quietly back to his room, long before anyone else might be up and about and able to discover him leaving. Still, when Dimitri clawed his way out of his usual nightmares -- flames and blood and Duscur, always Duscur -- and found himself alone in bed, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of lonely discontent. He collapsed against the pillows, soaked with sweat, and turned his gaze to that wall between his room and Felix’s. 

They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, their nightclothes scattered in rumpled piles across the floor, but even that small evidence of his presence was gone, now. ...Mostly. Felix had left Dimitri’s clothes where they lay, and he felt his lips twitch up at the sight of them now. His nightshirt was crumpled at the foot of the door, his pants in the middle of the room, his smallclothes at the foot of the bed. An obvious trail that told an even more obvious story. 

He sat up with a groan. His head pulsed already with the throbbing promise of a headache sure to worsen throughout the day. No matter. He knew from experience that lazing about abed would do nothing to assuage it, even with Felix’s scent and that of their exertions clinging to the covers, tempting him to replay all sorts of compelling memories. 

Unwisely, he took a moment to poke his head in Felix’s room on his way out. Long gone, of course. 

Neither was he in the dining hall, nor the training grounds, and when class began without him, too, Dimitri actually began to worry. At least, until Ingrid seemed to notice the look on his face and his constant, fidgeting glances at Felix’s empty seat.

She leaned over beside him to whisper in his ear. “Dancing lessons,” she explained, and though she took care to roll her eyes, Dimitri noted the way her lips quirked up with genuine mirth. “They’re all skipping class, apparently. Last minute recital in the lounge.” 

Dimitri nodded, his eyes trained resolutely on their professor. “I see,” he murmured. 

“It ought to be some show, with the way they’re going all out with the practicing,” Sylvain said, not even bothering to whisper from his place behind them. Dimitri hunched his shoulders, and Ingrid twisted around to glare, which only seemed to encourage him. “I mean, if that’s really what’s going on in there,” Sylvain added, and though he wasn’t looking, Dimitri could hear his smirk. “Locked up in the lounge with Hilda and Dorothea, I mean, if I were Felix --” 

At the lectern, the professor had ceased her lecturing. She simply stood, arms crossed, her unsettling gaze piercing the three of them together. Dimitri cleared his throat, cutting Sylvain neatly off. 

“My apologies, professor,” he said, meekly, while Ingrid nodded emphatically beside him. 

Behind them, Sylvain hardly even bothered to muffle his laughter.

After that, he accepted that he wasn’t likely to see Felix before the cup began in earnest. He passed the day with Dedue in the training yard, appreciative as always at the way he never pushed or pried beyond urging him occasionally to rest. The grounds were fairly abuzz with excitement, and though most others Dimitri spoke with favored Dorothea for the cup, he was surprised to find that Felix had no small number of eager fans, himself. Mostly women, and in truth, Dimitri did not care to linger on the way thinking too hard about that made him feel. 

He was among the first to file into the event hall, when the time came. He seated himself at the very front, folded his hands neatly over his lap, and watched with rapt attention as the judges and faculty and what seemed like the entire student population of the monastery filed in around him. He listened as Professor Manuela coached the musicians and complained to Seteth about the acoustics of the room, winced as Alois took center stage and attempted to assuage the crowd with meager attempts at comedy, and sighed with relief when, at long last, Shamir swept in off the stairs and indicated all was in order. His head ached terribly, and the crowded room pressed in around him, snatches of conversation distracting him at all angles. 

And then the music began. 

Hilda took the stage first, to raucous cheers and the very vocal support of her own house, and what sounded like plenty more besides. It was like no dance Dimitri had ever seen -- lively and spontaneous and certainly very daring, in parts. She seemed to delight in her own costume, moving so that the skirts swirled dangerously high about her legs, flashing them all fierce grins as the music played faster and her steps kept pace, the bangles about her wrists jangling ever more insistently against one another as she moved. It was not quite the same as what Felix had been wearing, Dimitri noted -- and it was entirely the wrong thing to think, because with that thought came the memory of what it had looked like and the knowledge of what it would look like, when he finally took the stage. 

Goddess above. What would his dancing be like? Would he swing his hips and twirl about the way Hilda did, baring the smooth muscle of his thighs between flashes of silk and ribbon? 

He felt himself flushing at the thought, and something of his thoughts must have shown plainly on his face, because Hilda caught his eyes and winked at him, to a chorus of chitters and giggles and the sudden pain of Ingrid’s elbow in his ribs. 

It wasn’t like him to forget himself so completely! He sat straighter in his seat, pressing his lips resolutely together, and schooled his expression back to something more vacantly proper and becoming of his station. 

Hilda blew them kisses as she concluded her dance, to yet more cheering, and then it was Dorothea’s turn. 

She swept down from the stairs in crimson silk trimmed with black lace, holding a bouquet of roses. The music went soft and slow, strings singing over sighs of anticipation from the gathered crowd, and then -- 

Then, she began to dance. 

It was suddenly clear that Hilda’s dancing, for all its playful passion, had ultimately been the work of a very enthusiastic amateur. The audience watched, rapt with attention, as Dorothea carried them through a slow, lonely ballroom affair, shedding roses in her wake. Each movement was a carefully choreographed affair, graceful and elegant, and the music built in both time and volume as she swept about the stage. 

It was far more than only a dance, Dimitri thought. Rather, it was a sort of play, a storyline unfolding in the way Dorothea twisted, spun and swayed, in the way she laid her roses out and navigated a thorny path of her own making, in the curve of her lip and the line of her smile and the sad way she fluttered her lashes, so dark against her powdered cheeks. She was beautiful, radiant and powerful, and when the music swelled and she backtraced her steps and gave them a tumbling finale full of flared skirts and breathtaking acrobatics, the room fairly exploded into applause. 

And even still, even after such a fine display of skill and feminine beauty, Dimitri could only think -- Felix. He had to be next. What sorts of things had Dorothea been teaching him, closed up in that lounge together, day after day? She bowed gracefully, color high in her cheeks, and managed to sway her hips in hypnotizing rhythm even as she simply circled the stage to recollect her roses, and Dimitri watched her with his heart in his throat and thought, what would Felix look like, bending like that in his silks, tossing his hair so artfully back over his shoulder, glancing back at him with half-lidded eyes? 

Beautiful. Tempting. Distracting.

He held his breath. He could practically feel Ingrid’s gaze on him, her brow furrowed and wholly disapproving, and there was no way to explain! He was not being inappropriate toward Dorothea, or Hilda, or to anyone except the man who had shared his bed as recently as the very night before, so, really… and sweet sword of Seiros, that was not the right trajectory! He tightened his fingers between one another in his lap, tensed the muscles in his thighs until they were painfully tight, and set his jaw in resolute determination. 

Dorothea disappeared back up the stairs. 

The music stopped. 

The silence stretched.

It went on long enough that Dimitri saw the judges begin to shift in their seats. Someone coughed in the crowd. Professor Manuela’s brow furrowed, ever so slightly, and she leaned over to whisper something in Alois’s ear. Dimitri leaned forward in his seat, a flutter of anxiety cutting sharp through the rest of the clamor in his head. At his back, he heard Sylvain mutter just loud enough to be heard, _did he actually chicken out? No way._

But they needn’t have worried. A moment later, Felix came striding down the steps like nothing was amiss at all, straight-backed and blank faced, with just a hint of tightness around his jaw. Silk fluttered and silver clinked around his hips, his wrists, his neck, the sound of it sharp yet gentle, like chimes in the wind. 

There was a collective intake of breath as the students took in his ensemble. Whispers threaded through the crowd, and someone else laughed, incredulous, before his peers around him moved to shush him. 

If Felix heard it, he did a fine job hiding the fact. Studying his face, Dimitri thought he saw something there, in the downturn of his lips and the lines around his eyes, something that reminded him of when they were young, gathered in the training yard, hopelessly outmatched by their instructors. 

Felix’s gaze wavered, sweeping downward, and his eyes caught Dimitri’s just as the music started. 

His eyes widened. Whatever he saw there, it made him look away in a hurry, breaking eye contact even sooner than usual. Dimitri saw him swallow, and suddenly his nerves were plain in the way he held himself, the taut lines of his body. 

And then he drew his sword. 

It was a slim thing, light and thin and ill suited for battle. Even so, Dimitri could plainly see the way the light caught the keen edge of the blade; this was no practice sword. The hilt was filigreed in silver to match the trimming of his attire, and Dimitri thought, at a glance, that it had to be the work of a master jeweler and a skilled smith, both. Where had Felix found the thing?

No time to wonder. 

He moved much like he did on the training grounds, day after day, night after night, practicing his forms alone long after the knights and even the most dedicated students slipped off to undertake less taxing endeavors. Yet now, with the music and the clothes and the stage, Dimitri clearly saw the artistry in it, the rhythm in even the basic forms they’d been taught from the moment they’d been old enough to lift a blade. 

Felix flowed seamlessly from one to the next, a little flair in each transition, simple at first and then more complex, until his maneuvers were no longer practical or even martial at all. Purely performative, he spun that blade and his own body in perfect unison, twirling silver and steel in his hands even as the sheer silk of his garments twisted and spun and then flared about his hips, flashing near the full length of his legs. 

He had a ribbon in his hair, Dimitri noted, faintly. It bound it all loosely back, fluttering and snapping as he moved, blue as the lions that symbolized their house. Felix tossed his sword into the air, spun and caught it without missing a beat, and Dimitri watched that ribbon move and longed to slide and snap it between his fingers, to run his hands through Felix’s hair and down his back and over his hips, to feel that silk bunch and slide under his palms as he lifted and bent him and hooked his thumbs into the thin shorts that only barely made him decent, exposing him at last, and -- and -- 

Gods. 

Felix couldn’t play the crowd the way Hilda had, nor could he write poetry upon the stage with his body the way Dorothea did, but he was fierce and beautiful and determined, and Dimitri watched him dance with his lips parted and his gaze practically rapturous, utterly captivated. Clasped hands and hastily crossed legs hid the worst of the evidence of what it did to him, he hoped, though a part of him desperately wanted Felix to know, to look and see the effect he had on him. The same part of him that wished to leap free of his seat and climb the stage and take Felix like an animal in heat right there for all to see, no doubt. 

He shifted in his seat, sweating beneath all his layers. His head pounded, the ache behind his eyes worse than ever. The murmur of the crowd at his back was almost intolerable.

Slowly, the music ground to a flourishing halt, and Felix completed his dance with a bow over the blade, held flat across his body. His eyes caught Dimitri’s once more -- on purpose, Dimitri thought -- and for just a moment, he thought he saw his lips curve into a knowing little grin. 

And then he straightened up, face impassive once more. He sheathed his sword and turned back for the stairs in one fluid movement, and Dimitri, long past caring, stared shamelessly at the curve of his ass as he went.

The ensuing applause was little more than a blurry smear of sound echoing in Dimitri’s ears, and the roaring buzz of it continued long after Alois took the stage and the actual sound of it had surely stopped. He shook his head, which helped nothing, and then, partway through Alois’s interminable speech, he stood abruptly from his seat. How was he supposed to just sit there, after that? He couldn’t possibly. 

_Your Highness?_ Dedue said, sounding so very concerned for him, and Ingrid echoed him on the other side. 

Dimitri ignored the both of them, and strode stiffly from the hall -- and if his jacket was pulled somewhat tighter and lower around himself than usual, surely no one would mention it. He ducked out a side entrance, through an arched corridor and into the brisk, outdoor air. 

With the cold came some clarity, and he leaned back against a stone column and laughed helplessly into the wind, his breath swirling visibly out before him in a faint mist. 

Cheering exploded from within the hall at his back, and he nodded along with it, red-faced and grinning like a maniac. Felix would just have to forgive him for not being there. He’d never have managed to hold himself back. 

_Beast_ , the wind whispered at him, soft as a sigh.

Privately, he couldn’t help but agree. 

*

Felix found him, eventually. 

“Hey,” he said, outwardly dismissive as he always was, approaching him as he so rarely did. “Boar.” 

Shivering, Dimitri turned to look. “Felix,” he greeted him, with a customary smile. His teeth wanted so badly to chatter. “You changed your c-clothes.” 

Frowning, Felix took hold of his arm, and then he reached up and laid his hand against his face. Dimitri blinked at him, his mouth parting in speechless wonder. He startled forward, off the column he’d been leaning on, and turned to look down the corridor. 

“No one’s here,” Felix said. “The hall emptied out hours ago. Why are you just standing out here? It’s almost curfew.” 

He frowned. “I just… needed a moment,” he explained. “Did you say curfew?” He thought back. Surely it hadn’t been so long. He’d taken a walk about the grounds to clear his head, and then he’d come back here to gather his thoughts before he went back inside, only… 

“You’re freezing cold,” Felix said, letting his hand drop back to his side. Dimitri missed the warmth of it immediately. “Where were you? I looked for you, after the contest, you know. Ingrid said you just walked out.” 

“Mm,” Dimitri agreed, with a little shrug. He gave him a shy little smile, and then, boldly, reached for his hand. “Your dancing was incredible,” he said. He remembered that much. Felix colored instantly, cheeks reddening visibly even in the dusky half-light of their surroundings. 

“That’s not an answer,” he accused. “You’re lucky I found you first. Ingrid wanted to slap you silly.” 

“Gods,” Dimitri breathed, and then he laughed, softly, reaching with his free hand to brush a lock of hair off Felix’s forehead. Felix glared up at him, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed into slits. “You’re still wearing the ribbon,” he observed. “Ah. I like it. You used to have a new one, every day…” He let his fingers trail over Felix’s ear and into his hair and over the soft, satin texture of it. It was tied tighter now than it had been, and his fingers longed to loosen the knot. “I loved your dance. Where did you find that sword?” 

Felix reached up and caught his wrist, frowning still. He dragged his hand away from his hair and the ribbon tied there. “Dorothea,” he explained, ducking his head. “It belonged to her character, in -- agh.” He dropped Dimitri’s wrist, and scoffed at him. “You won’t have heard of it. It doesn’t matter. What’s the matter with you? Come on.” He gave his hand a firm tug. “Let’s go inside.” 

The event hall was empty, now, just as Felix had said it would be. the chairs that had been so neatly arranged in rows were stacked now in columns along the walls, awaiting storage or some new future destination. Their footsteps echoed hollow on the stone, just slightly out of sync with one another. It was far less cold, inside and out of the wind, though Dimitri wouldn’t have called it warm. 

Felix’s hand in his, though… 

“So,” Felix said, softly. “Are you going to tell me anything? Why you left? Where you’ve been? What you’ve been doing? Any of it?” 

“Goddess, Felix,” Dimitri laughed, tightening their fingers together. “Very well.” He lowered his voice. “If you must know, I left mainly because I wanted you so badly, I could hardly think.” 

Felix went still at his side. “Excuse me?” he demanded, his voice pitched high.

Dimitri laughed again, ruefully, this time. “It’s true,” he said. “I was afraid that if I remained even a moment longer, I might actually climb up onto that stage, and... well. Let’s not linger on the details. Suffice to say, it would have been a different sort of show, entirely.” 

Felix gave him a panicked sort of look, his eyes wide, lips parted. “You’re joking,” he said. His brows furrowed. “It’s not funny. Listen. You don’t have to tell me, but --” 

“It’s the truth!” Dimitri turned and grabbed his other hand, so that he held them both tight in his grip, facing him. “It was entirely unbecoming, if I’m being honest. Ingrid was furious with me. You would have been right to call me beast, or boar, or, hah, worse.” He shook his head. “I missed you, this morning,” he said. “I wish you would wake me before you went.” 

Something utterly indecipherable passed over Felix’s face and then disappeared, too quick to take in, too brief to understand or interpret. He sucked in a breath and took a quick look around, as though to ensure they were still alone. “You know what would happen, if I did,” he said.

Dimitri made a soft humming sound, and stepped closer. “Do I?” 

Felix squeezed his hands and turned away, tugging him onward once more, toward the exit on the opposite side of the hall. “You’d never let me go,” he accused. 

“Hah.” Dimitri couldn’t help but grin at the thought. “Would that be so bad?” 

“We need to be careful,” Felix sighed. He glanced back at him, and then down at their joined hands, and rolled his eyes. “More careful than this, for certain.” 

“I know that.” He did. Still, he didn’t let go. “As for the rest…” he shrugged. “I took a walk. That’s all. I must have lost track of the time.” 

“You need to get more sleep,” Felix said, and if Dimitri hadn’t known for a fact that he and Dedue rarely spoke, he might have suspected them of conspiring on their unified message, together. “Maybe we shouldn’t --” 

“No,” Dimitri said, firm and loud and maybe with just a tinge of fear. Felix stopped, again, and turned to give him a wary look over his shoulder. 

“Dimitri,” he said, flatly. 

“I sleep better with you there,” Dimitri said, truthfully, careful to keep his voice low. He sucked in a breath. Exhaled, slowly. “I always have,” he added, both because it was true, and because… well. Because he knew the sort of effect it had on Felix, bringing up their history, how close they’d been, how easy it had all seemed between them, once. 

As expected, Felix’s features softened, just for a moment before he turned inevitably away. “We’re going to get caught,” he muttered. 

They exited the hall and entered another outdoor corridor, cut across the courtyard toward the dormitories. “It doesn’t matter,” Dimitri murmured. “I’ll be king, soon enough.” 

Felix snorted at him, audible over the wind. “Four days,” he said. “You’ll have your majority. You ought to show up in Fhirdiad for your birthday, and have them crown you on the spot.” 

There were many reasons why he couldn’t do so. None of them were things Felix wanted to hear. So instead, Dimitri forced a smile and squeezed his hand and said, “And cut short these last few months here, with you?” 

“You are -- ridiculous,” Felix snapped, but Dimitri was getting much better at recognizing the fondness behind his little outbursts, and there and then, it stood out loud and clear. 

*

Dorothea let Felix keep the sword. A token of his victory, she said, with a knowing smile. Felix kept it in his room, hung near his desk in its sheath, but when Dimitri asked him what he intended to do with the actual clothes, he received only a withering glare in response. 

And that, he thought, was that. 

Until the night of his birthday, four days later. 

It had been a tiring day, truth be told. It wasn’t precisely private information, and all throughout the day he found himself accosted by friends and strangers alike, all eager with gifts and well wishes. He enjoyed breakfast with Dedue and lunch with Ingrid and Sylvain and afternoon tea with the professor, and for supper, the entire class met in the dining hall -- even Felix, though he kept his distance and studiously avoided conversation. Dimitri tried not to let it sting; they had appearances to keep up in public, after all. 

He knew that afterward, long after the sun had set, they’d have their chance to be alone.

He’d hoped, in fact, that Felix would come to him. That he’d slip quietly into his room, after hours. That they’d spend some time together, just the two of them, talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company, until inevitably the tension between them built naturally to a certain point, and then they would climb into bed together and enjoy one another in that way, too. He could think of no better end to the evening than having Felix in his bed, warm and willing and so wonderfully open to him, unguarded like he never was, sweet and trusting and so very good beneath him, around him, in his hands and under the delicate ministrations of his lips and tongue. 

He laid in his own bed for a long time, anticipating it. Longer than he should have, really, hoping with each passing minute that Felix would set aside his own pride and give in to the implicit invitation. He laid there until the anticipation soured in his gut and became anxiety, instead, worry that he’d misjudged, misstepped, that Felix was actually cross with him and had gone ahead and gone to bed. 

Eventually, he dragged himself out from beneath the blankets, away from staring at the wall between them, and slipped out into the hall. He had to know for certain. He wasn’t likely to get much sleep, anyway, he reasoned. 

When he knocked at Felix’s door and heard no answer, he very nearly wrote the whole thing off, and took himself meekly back to his own bed. 

But he had to know.

He held his breath and turned the handle, and was relieved to find the door unlocked -- and a moment later, shocked to find it empty of its owner. 

A lantern burned at his desk, however, and above it hung that sword, Dorothea’s gifted dancing blade. Dimitri moved to stand before it, brow furrowed, and there, folded neatly atop the desk, there was a single half sheet of paper. Dimitri unfolded it, carefully, squinting at it in the lantern light. 

_Meet me in the lounge,_ it read. Just that single, terse line, no addressee, no signature, though the handwriting was as familiar to him as his own. 

And suddenly, he very much regretted waiting so very long. 

He blew out the lantern before he left, and he made sure to close the door behind him very quietly, indeed. 

It was well past curfew, but no one accosted him on his way out, not at the dormitory entrance or the corridor across the courtyard or the stairwell up over the event hall where the faculty offices sat between the library and the student lounge. His heart pounded and his palms went damp and clammy, and he reminded himself over and over again that Sylvain did this sort of thing just about every other night, and he never seemed to get caught, did he? 

Besides. He was the crown prince. What did it actually matter, if he did? 

The second floor faculty offices were all shut tight, and ought to have been empty for the night, but he stepped carefully past them all the same. The hall was lit with faint moonlight through the windows, and it felt impossibly strange to be picking his way toward the lounge at such an hour. He ran his fingers over the note in his pocket, and pressed on.

He wondered, briefly, if he should knock, or simply walk in. He decided on the latter -- it was more confident, surely -- but when he tried the door he found it locked, and so, meekly, he found himself forced to settle for knocking, after all. 

Quietly, of course. 

No answer. He frowned at the door, peering at it like some clever sort of puzzle, and tried again, a little more forcefully. 

No response. 

He wondered if he’d misunderstood. 

He knocked again, wincing at the sound it made, glancing guiltily back over his shoulder and down the dark, moonlit hallway, and when there was still no response, he started pacing. 

He hadn’t misunderstood. He was sure of it. The note had been for him, the implication in it had been clear, and he had to know what exactly was waiting for him behind that damned door! 

So he took firm hold of the latch and turned, and pushed, and pushed a little bit more, until the bolt snapped with a sharp metal sound. It wasn’t precisely the most secure room in the monastery, he thought, with a little pang of guilt. He jiggled the latch until the busted bolt fell through the mechanism with an audible _clank_ , and then he pushed opened the door. 

The first thing he noticed was the fireplace, burning low, barely bright enough to illuminate the room.

The second thing was the curled up lump atop one of the chaise lounge sofas, which, upon closer examination, proved to be incriminatingly Felix-shaped. Dimitri stood over him, grinning openly, and it was only when his shadow fell over Felix’s sleeping face that he stirred at all. Felix furrowed his brow, threw an arm over his face and turned to press himself deeper into the cushions. 

He was wearing a long coat, suitably heavy, and this he had wrapped tight around him. But beneath, Dimitri could not help but notice, fine white silk seemed to spill out from under the hem of it, tangled and bunched over his curled legs. 

“Felix,” he whispered, utterly delighted. He barely swallowed an incredulous laugh. Felix murmured something unintelligible into his own arm and shifted again, and, Gods above, but it took all of his willpower not to just -- slide his hands beneath the man and lift him up into his arms! He leaned in closer, his cheeks actually aching from the sheer exuberance of his own expression. “Felix!” he repeated, louder. 

Felix lifted his chin and turned onto his back, and simultaneously, his eyelids fluttered and then snapped open wide, staring up at him. His lips parted, and a little crease dipped between his brows.

“Dimitri?” he blinked, utter confusion writ across his face. 

And then, of course, understanding dawned. 

“Dimitri,” he said again, breathing his name like a curse. He sat up, glancing wildly around them, and Dimitri lifted his hands and backed away to give him space to orient himself. “What time is… what the hell?” He rubbed at his eyes, and then peered up at him again, disbelief written all over his expression. “Was I asleep?”

“So it would seem,” Dimitri said, and though he tried his best to keep the laughter from his voice, some of it must have seeped in, because Felix shot him an extremely unamused look, and then he pressed his hands against his face, shaking his head.

“Is it still your birthday?” he asked, muffled into his palms. 

Dimitri shrugged. “Does it matter?” 

“Yes, it --” Felix wrinkled his nose, yawned, and then took a deep breath, dropping his hands into his lap. He glared up at him. “-- Matters,” he finished. He gestured around. “What took you so long?” 

“I was hoping,” Dimitri said, severely, “That you would come to me. So, I… ah. Perhaps, waited a bit longer, than I might otherwise have…” he trailed off, his expression melting into something far more sheepish.

Felix just looked at him, his gaze flat and utterly unreadable. A flutter of nervous energy set Dimitri’s insides all squirming, and impulsively, he flung himself forward to seat himself beside Felix on the chaise. Felix watched him silently, but he didn’t move away, and when Dimitri reached carefully out to slide an arm over his shoulders, he leaned into the contact. That was all the signal Dimitri needed to set his fear aside and pull him in close against him. Felix let himself be pulled, and then he sighed into Dimitri’s shoulder. 

“I waited here for you,” he said. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting? Hours.” 

“I’m so sorry --” 

“Hours,” Felix repeated, sharply. “Wearing -- this!” 

Dimitri swallowed, hard. He shifted his arm around Felix lower, sliding his hand down over the rough fabric of his coat until it rested lightly around his waist, instead. “You might have said something about these plans,” he could not help but point out. “At dinner, perhaps.” 

“Too risky.” 

“And this wasn’t?” Dimitri raised his eyebrows. Felix held his gaze for just a second, and then slid his own eyes sullenly away. “Felix,” Dimitri sighed. “I thought I’d upset you, somehow.” 

“Well, you have!” Felix said, and then he undercut his own words by wiggling back against him with an exasperated little huff, practically climbing into his lap. Dimitri’s heart, already galloping, stuttered in his chest. He tightened his arm around him, and then, unable to resist, he dipped his chin and pressed his face into Felix’s hair and breathed deep.

“Tell me why you’re wearing that,” he suggested. 

Felix crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you break that lock?” he asked, instead. “Dimitri.” 

“Ah, yes. Oh, but don’t worry. Next time, I’ll be sure to leave you here to be found by the first person who thinks to check the student lounge, come morning,” he said. 

Felix sucked in a deep breath and held it. Dimitri rested his chin atop his head, closed his eyes, and let him have his moment in peace. 

“I’m sure I would have been up before it came to that,” he muttered, eventually. “Still. You have a point.” Dimitri felt Felix’s hand cover his at his side, and he fluttered his own eyes open as Felix squeezed his fingers gently and then moved to work open the buttons of his coat. His breath caught, watching him work them one by one, and when Felix leaned forward to shrug himself out of it completely, Dimitri hastened to help him pull it off, leaving him fully exposed in that soft, silken dancing garb alone. 

He couldn’t help himself. He tossed Felix’s coat carelessly over the side of the chaise, and then he pulled him over his legs, more firmly into his lap. He supported him with one hand low around his back, and the other he pressed over the silk bunched and tied artfully over his chest. He could feel the warmth of Felix’s skin beneath, and eagerly, he slid his palm down over his stomach, all the way to the bits of silver hung about his waist. These he traced with his fingers, delighting in the way they clinked and chimed against one another. 

“You wore this for me,” he said, his voice full of wonder. “I wasn’t sure you’d even kept it.” 

Felix refused to look at him. His cheeks were tinged with color, and his jaw clenched so tight it practically bulged. “For your birthday,” he agreed, sharply. “I… hah.” Some of the tension seemed to drain out of his posture, then. “Did you think I could forget those things you said? How the sight of my dancing drove you so wild, you thought of taking me there on the stage?” 

Dimitri laughed, quietly. “I didn’t realize you enjoyed them quite so much,” he admitted. He dragged his one wandering hand back up over Felix’s chest, letting his thumb tease over the rigid nub of one nipple beneath the silk. His body was responding inevitably to this, his pants uncomfortably tight around him. Felix shifted knowingly atop him, and gave him a sharp, narrow-eyed look. 

“I intended to dance for you,” he said. “Privately. Here.” 

“I see,” Dimitri murmured, sliding his exploring hand boldly beneath folds of silk to trace over the tight-fitting shirt he wore beneath. His fingers found the hem of it and slid up beneath it, marveling at the heat of his skin. “I would like that,” he admitted, needlessly. “Felix… ah, Felix. You are so beautiful…” 

“Hush,” he snapped, reacting to Dimitri’s praise and compliments as he always did. “Stop that.” 

“Dance for me, please,” Dimitri said, sweeping his thumb over the dip at Felix’s navel, teasing over the ridges and planes of muscle, there. 

“You’ll have to let me go, first,” Felix advised him, and the breathless, affected way he sounded made Dimitri’s heart flutter every bit as much as the feel of him in his lap, beneath his hands. With a sigh of deep regret, he pulled his hands away, leaving Felix free to move as he pleased. 

“Very well,” he said, softly.

Felix took a deep breath and slid off his lap, onto his feet. Silk fell and silver chimed, the sound of it playful and intimate between them. Dimitri sat back and tilted his head up, all smiling, attentive anticipation. He watched Felix’s gaze flicker to the obvious lump in his pants, and watched too as the sight put yet more color in his face, ruddy red to the roots of his hair. 

“The door,” Felix murmured, glancing toward it. 

“No one will interrupt us,” Dimitri assured him. “Dance for me, Felix.” 

Felix smoothed his hands over the silk that hung from him, like he could fix the wrinkles in the fabric so easily, and gave him an uncertain look. “Don’t laugh,” he warned.

“I would never,” Dimitri assured him, gently. 

“There’s no music, so…” 

“You know you hardly need it.” 

Felix took a breath. He was gorgeous, really, outlined in the firelight as he was, blushing and uncertain. He reached up to tighten the ribbon in his messy hair, and nodded, slowly. He closed his eyes. “I know you were curious about the lessons,” he said. 

“I imagined all sorts of things,” Dimitri admitted. “I worried that she would seduce you away from me, with her beauty.” 

He laughed, softly. “Dorothea,” he sighed. He opened his eyes. “I won’t say she didn’t try. We both know that she did. She knows exactly what she wants, that girl, and Fraldarius is as fine a prize as any other.” 

“Finer,” Dimitri agreed. 

“She seemed to realize quickly, though, that it was pointless to expend the effort.” He tilted his head. His hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it impatiently away… and then he smiled, so sweetly it nearly stopped Dimitri’s heart right there in his chest. “She tried to get your name out of me, every day. I never told her, but of course I didn’t need to, with you there hovering outside the door, day after day…” he sighed. “She knew she wouldn’t win, you know.” 

“Because you are so very skilled?” 

“Because Professor Manuela couldn’t have chosen her in good conscience. With their history, and her instructing the Black Eagles, besides…” He opened his eyes. “In the end, I actually came to like her a great deal. There’s far more to her than she lets on.” 

“Ah,” Dimitri said, smiling up at him. “Should I be worried?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Of course not,” he said. “I like her, I said. You, on the other hand…” 

“You don’t like me?” Dimitri asked him, blinking innocently.

“Hah.” Felix put a hand on one hip, and glared down at him. “You know I don’t always. And yet, even when I don’t... when you make me sick with anger, or worry, or both -- Dimitri.” He met his eyes. “I’ve loved you since we were children, since before I could even conceptualize the emotion. I always will, I think. No matter how you manage to frustrate me, in the meantime! So, no.” He turned around, facing the fire. “You don’t need to worry about anyone but your own damned self,” he said. 

And then, finally, he began to dance.

Dimitri said nothing, at first, content to simply watch him, and to enjoy the warmth that filled him, head to toe. He knew that Felix loved him, of course, but it was one thing to know something and another entirely to hear it directly from his lips. He let his gaze wander over his body, lingering on the curve of his neck, the jut of his waist, the long, smooth lines of his legs. He started slow, with basic forms, the foundations of the dance he’d witnessed on the stage apparent even without a sword in hand or music to accompany him. He shot him little uncertain glances on a turn, now and then, silk fluttering hypnotically in the firelight, and Dimitri was careful to always meet his eyes and smile encouragingly. 

He really was beautiful. It took everything in him to keep the words locked safely behind his teeth. 

When he realized that Felix’s dancing was bringing him closer with each turn, he had to bite his own tongue to keep quiet. He could hear Felix’s breathing, now, panting with faint exertion, and it put him in a mind to think of other, somehow even sweeter contexts for that exact sound. Felix turned to face him, silver chiming, and the silk about his legs flared so wide it fluttered against Dimitri’s knees. He paused, then, looking down at him, face flushed, hair all askew atop his head.

“No matter what I do,” he said, breathlessly, “You keep your hands to yourself. You understand?” 

His mouth felt full of cotton. He didn’t quite trust himself to speak, so instead he simply nodded mutely up at him.

“No touching,” Felix reminded him, sternly, and then he put his hands on Dimitri’s knees, pushing them apart. Dimitri flushed crimson and let his legs part eagerly, fisting his hands at his sides to keep from breaking the stated rules. Felix stepped in closer and turned about, his ass practically level with Dimitri’s face. He returned his hands to his knees, and then bent slowly, slotting himself against the line of Dimitri’s thighs. He slid himself backward, until the silk of his outfit brushed against the obvious, jutting outline of Dimitri’s cock, painfully hard in his pants. Dimitri let his breath out in a messy exhale, and he felt Felix’s fingers tighten where they clung still to his knees. 

“This is a dance?” Dimitri murmured, incredulous, dragging his eyes up the curve of Felix’s back as he moved his hips in slow, sensual rhythm, feather-light against him.

Felix laughed, breathlessly. “Of a sort,” he said.

Another thought occurred to him, then. “She -- taught you this?” he demanded, an image of it flashing in his mind’s eye -- Felix, sitting here on this very chaise lounge, with Dorothea moving so sensuously, placing her body on sweet display there between his legs -- 

“Not like this,” Felix assured him, like he could read his thoughts. “She was… professional.” 

“Felix,” Dimitri protested, voice strained. That was hardly reassuring! His fingers itched to grab him, to pull him close and reclaim him, to prove anew that he was his. He swallowed, hard. Felix let his hands slide back up his legs, his thumbs brushing the insides of Dimitri’s thighs, and then he pushed himself up and turned around. 

His eyes were bright, his face flushed, his expression equally affected and determined, both. He moved his hands to Dimitri’s shoulders, leaning over him. “I never intended to actually do this, you know,” he said, and as though to punctuate the point, he dipped his hips down low and dragged himself against him. Dimitri hissed softly at the sensation, the sweet, slow friction of his body. “She was only teasing, when she suggested it. But, ah…” he closed his eyes, and Dimitri’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the slow bob of his throat as he swallowed. “When I saw you there, sitting in the front… hah, and then you said those things, afterward! I thought…” 

He trailed off, and then he climbed up over him on the chaise, holding Dimitri’s hips between his knees.

“Felix,” Dimitri breathed. “Let me touch you.” 

“Not yet,” he murmured. He brought his hands up over Dimitri’s shoulders and brushed his thumbs lightly over the sweat gathered at the hollow of his throat. And then he met his eyes and moved his hips, slowly, his gaze burning into him as he brought their bodies together. Here, like this, Dimitri could feel his heat and how hard he was, too, pressing against him through those tight little undershorts and a thin fall of white silk. 

Dimitri closed his eyes, first, with a desperate, breathy little groan. It was too much, too much by far. How could he be expected to hold himself back? His fists were curled so tight his fingers ached. 

“There’s no stage, here,” Felix said, breathing the words into his ear. “And no audience, it’s true. But I thought it might be something, to see you act on the things you said that day, in some small way.” He was panting heavily, now, his breath hot against Dimitri’s face. Slowly, he dragged his hands down over Dimitri’s shirt, and then he slipped his fingers up under it, against his skin. 

Dimitri made a desperate sound, squirming up against him. “Felix,” he begged. 

“Of course, I didn’t expect you to take so long,” he scolded. “So you’ll need to hold yourself back for me, just a little.” 

Dimitri fluttered his eyes open, furrowing his brow. “What do you mean?” he demanded, voice thick. “Felix. Please.” 

His hands stilled on him, and he leaned in to press his forehead against Dimitri’s shoulder. His hips rolled against him, dragging them together, slow and hot and so impossibly sweet. Desire clouded Dimitri’s mind in red mist. Desperately, he moved his hips up to match Felix’s teasing. Rather than protesting, Felix seemed to enjoy it, hastening his own cautious motions, and Dimitri flexed his fingers slowly at his sides, another long, low groan falling from his lips. 

“All right,” Felix breathed. “You’ll see. Go ahead, then. Touch me.” 

He didn’t have to be told twice. Scarcely were the words out of Felix’s mouth before Dimitri’s arms were tight around him, one hand flat against the small of his back, the other smoothing up over the line of his spine beneath the silk to grip him tight by the back of the neck, instead. Felix made a soft, surprised little sound, and Dimitri tightened his fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and used that grip on him to pull him up into a hard, deep, desperate kiss. Felix’s lips parted for him instantly, granting him all the access he needed to claim him with his tongue, delving deep into his mouth. 

Simultaneously, he slid that hand at the base of his spine down to cup and squeeze the soft, yielding flesh of his ass. The fabric there was so thin, so insubstantial, it was the easiest thing in the world to hook his thumb into his waistline and pull. Seams gave way with a loud ripping sound, and Felix made a shocked noise into his mouth, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, it only seemed to encourage him! Dimitri gripped the tattered fabric tight in his fist and yanked the rest of it down his hips, jerking him backward, more tearing sounds accompanying the motion, and then, greedily, he slid his fingers down into the crease of his ass. 

Felix pressed himself back against his hand, encouraging him, and Dimitri’s fingers shook as he spread him and found what he was searching for. 

And he gasped against Felix’s mouth, fresh heat suffusing him, head to toe. His fingertips brushed against his hole, and what he found there was nothing like he’d expected. Instead of that familiar, tight ring of muscle, what he found was soft, wet, loose for him, like -- like it was, after -- 

He drew back, eyes wide, breathing hard and erratic. “You did this,” he said, exploring the edges of him, teasing over his entrance with the pad of one finger. Felix shook atop him, and nodded. 

“If you hadn’t taken so damned long,” he accused, and Dimitri laughed, shock and delight crashing through him. He curled a finger into him, marveling at how easily Felix opened for him, and Felix cut his own words off with a little gasp, swaying against him.

“Felix,” Dimitri breathed, and just like that, the frayed, tenuous tether of his patience snapped. A sound that could only be described as an actual, guttural growl escaped him, from deep in his throat, and he withdrew his hand and looped his arm around him, holding Felix tight against him as he surged up off the sofa. Felix made a surprised sound and threw his arms around Dimitri’s neck, clinging to him as Dimitri threw them both forward, putting Felix flat on his back on the floor. He climbed up over him, gripping one of Felix’s legs tight behind the knee, folding him upward. Felix shifted and squirmed and spread himself eagerly, encouraging, and Dimitri slid his free hand back down to tease his fingers against his hole, sinking his finger back into him to the second joint. 

Gods, and it was so easy! He opened for him, slick and wet, and the thought of it, the knowledge that Felix had labored over himself with his own fingers and oil to make himself ready for this, that he’d done that for him and then waited for him, danced for him -- 

He growled again, and added another finger. Felix groaned and lifted his head, panting hard. His hair was a mess, spilling from that loose ribbon behind his head, over his forehead and into his face. He was gorgeous. Beautiful. Utterly irresistible. 

“Dimitri,” he panted, even as he moved his hips, fucking himself eagerly on his fingers. “My coat,” he said. “There’s more --” 

He understood. He leaned forward, pressing a reverent kiss against Felix’s thigh, and curled his fingers together deep inside him, just the way he knew he liked best. Felix made a high, appreciative sound, his back arching beautifully before him, and Dimitri left him just like that to go retrieve his coat. He searched the thing for its pockets in a near frenzy, and when he found that little stoppered bottle, his heart nearly stopped outright in his chest. Yes. Perfect. 

He turned back to him and held it up, grinning. 

Felix had himself propped up on his own elbows, watching him, and the way he looked with that silk and gauze draped over his body and the tattered remains of his shorts hanging loose off his hips… 

Dimitri barely remembered crawling back over him. He kissed him hard, hungrily, setting the bottle aside just for a moment so he could cradle his face between his hands. “Felix,” he moaned against his lips, breathy and reverent. 

Felix slid his hands up into Dimiri’s hair, brushing it back out of his face, and smiled against him. “Is this how you imagined it? Taking me on stage?” 

Dimitri shuddered atop him. “Almost,” he breathed. He sat up. He unbuckled his belt and worked his own pants down with shaking hands, breathing a sigh of relief as he freed himself from that tight confinement at last. His cock bounced into the open air, and he wasn’t above feeling a little hit of pride when he saw Felix’s gaze move to look at him, his eyes widening slightly, like they always did.

“Almost?” Felix repeated, licking his lips. Gods, it nearly killed him. He fumbled for the bottle beside him, unstopping it eagerly. 

“Turn around,” he ordered him, and he was treated to the sight of Felix’s eyes widening even further, his lips parting and his face flushing dark. Dimitri raised his eyebrows at him, slicking his hands and then his cock with slippery fluid. “I imagined you on your hands and knees for me,” he clarified, needlessly. 

Felix sat up. “Right,” he breathed. “Ah. Dimitri.” He took a moment to watch him while he slicked himself up, and Dimitri let him, enjoying the rapt attention he paid to the proceedings.

“Felix,” he repeated. 

“Right,” Felix repeated, and the way his voice trembled on the word said everything else, clear as day. He turned himself obediently around, arranging himself on hands and knees, and scarcely had he done so than Dimitri had his hands on his hips, dragging him back against him. He teased his hole with slick fingers, and moaned appreciatively when Felix arched himself up against that contact. With his free hand, he emptied the bottle over the slick, hot line of Felix’s ass, working the fluid over his hole with eager fingers, two and then three, stretching him open around them. Felix gasped and shook and rocked against him, willing and eager, his obvious desire only further inflaming Dimitri’s own. 

He didn’t wait long. He liked to hold himself back, sometimes, to make Felix whine and squirm and beg him for his cock, but tonight, like this, he couldn’t possibly have maintained such control. He withdrew his fingers and pressed his thick head against Felix’s hole, hesitating only until he heard Felix’s soft, desperate plea of _please, yes,_ muffled into his own arms. 

He took him in one long, impossibly sweet stroke, the pleasure of it tearing the breath from his lungs. “Felix!” he cried, sliding his hands up over the folds of soft, smooth silk draped along his sides. His fingers tightened on his hips, and he held him in place there as he withdrew himself in full and thrust himself forward again, hard enough to send Felix skidding forward on his knees over the rug. 

Felix answered with a wordless, overwhelmed cry, louder than he ever was in their rooms, with their friends and peers crowded in so close around them.

It was the last straw. Dimitri let himself go, giving in to that red curtain in his mind. He chased his own pleasure, heedless of Felix’s own, holding him close and tight and fucking into him with quick, hard, relentless thrusts, grunting his pleasure over the sweat-slicked curve of his back. Silk clung to him, bunching up at his hips, and Dimitri let it fill his hands and marveled at the way it felt, cool silk over damp, heated skin. 

His pleasure built, higher and more demanding, and he slumped himself over Felix’s body, hooking his arm around him and pulling his back flush against his chest. “Felix,” he moaned, mindless and desperate, curling his other hand around to grip his cock, gasping at how slick and wet he found him there. Felix made another high, gasping sound, his hips jerking forward into Dimitri’s grip on him, and Dimitri stroked him hard and fast even as he went on thrusting hard into him, taking his own pleasure of him. 

“Ah, ah, Dimitri, fuck,” Felix cried, lifting his head off the curled pillow of his own arms, his hair falling loose over his back and neck, spilling down over his shoulders. Dimitri reached out helplessly to run his hands through it, and then he tightened his fingers there at the roots, gripping tight. He leaned in over Felix’s shoulder, his mouth nearly touching the shell of his ear. 

“This is it,” he gasped. “This is how I imagined it, how I wanted you, how I thought of taking you there on that stage, Felix, oh, Felix…” 

Desperate, throaty laughter met his admission. “Is it, ah, everything you wanted? Everything you hoped?” Felix demanded, lifting his chin and tossing his hair, twisting his face to look up over his shoulder at him. Dimitri’s heart leapt in his chest even as his cock jumped, there where it was buried deep within Felix, beneath him, and he nodded, turning his own face to press a messy kiss against the side of his face. 

“Yes,” he breathed, squeezing his cock with one hand and his grip on his hair, with the other. Felix shuddered beneath him. “Yes, yes, _yes._ Felix, I, oh…” 

“Come on,” Felix groaned up at him, bracing himself on his arms to push back against him, hard. “Harder,” he challenged him, imperious and demanding and so perfectly Felix. 

His heart squeezed so hard, he actually feared for a moment that it might burst. 

“I love you,” Dimitri whispered at him, soft into his ear. 

“Gods damn you,” Felix gasped, bucking beneath him. “Stop that! Fuck me, damn you!” 

Laughing quietly, chest tight and body burning for release, Dimitri could only eagerly comply. He tightened his grip in Felix’s hair and pushed him down, until he was whimpering beneath him with his cheek pressed against the plush rug, and did as he asked, fucking into him hard and fast, careening quickly and recklessly toward the cliff of his own pleasure. He held himself back, squeezing and stroking Felix beneath him, until -- yes -- he felt him tense and gasp beneath him, so close, trembling on the edge. 

“Let go,” he commanded him, hoarsely, and Felix made a desperate breathy sound and obeyed, bucking his hips helplessly forward as he came. Dimitri felt the heat of his seed, searing over his fingers, and that along with the feel of him clenching around him and crying out beneath him -- it was more than enough. He followed him eagerly into bliss, his thrusts going wild and erratic as his own pleasure eclipsed all else. 

When he came back to himself, he was curled over him still, breathing hard. A certain kind of clarity always accompanied these moments, with him. His mind felt calmer and clearer than it had ever been, the world seemed more focused and brighter to his eyes, and even the sound of their breathing felt clearer, sharper, mingling in the steady background of the crackling fire. 

He pulled himself up, reluctantly, smoothing his fingers gently down Felix’s back. He didn’t think he’d torn anything -- except those shorts, of course, hanging in tatters, still, off his hips.

Felix pushed himself up, slowly, with a languid little groan. “Dimitri,” he muttered, quietly.

“Turn around,” Dimitri murmured, pulling reluctantly free of him with a little gasp. He scooted backward, giving him space. He couldn’t help but stare at the mess he’d made of him, at the way his seed leaked and dripped from his hole. Gods. He swallowed, hard. “Let me see your face.” 

Felix laughed, tipping his head back, and Dimitri watched the fall of his hair, swaying gently as he shook his head. He lifted himself onto his knees, and Dimitri watched him drag his palms over his face, wiping it clean. Only then did he obey, twisting around to face him. 

Hah. He might have wiped his face, but his eyes were wet still with the evidence of his overwhelmed pleasure. Dimitri smiled at him. Felix made a little scoffing sound and dropped his gaze, turning his face sharply to one side.

“I would ask if you enjoyed it,” he said, “But I think the answer is fairly clear.” 

“Come here,” Dimitri said. “Let me hold you.” 

“Gods,” Felix muttered, and though he rolled his eyes at him like always, he did as asked, crawling forward so that Dimitri could pull him close and wrap his arms tight around him. He tucked his face happily into the curve of his neck and breathed deep. 

“You’re so good,” he murmured, softly. “So good for me, Felix… ah. You feel so good. Like that, of course, but… like this, too.” He turned and kissed his way up the side of his face, and Felix made an unhappy sound and squirmed in his arms, thumping a fist against his back. Dimitri laughed, pressing his face into his hair. “Thank you for the performance,” he said, very seriously. “I enjoyed it, very much.” 

“Yes, well,” Felix huffed against him, “You’re welcome. Happy birthday.” 

Dimitri drew back, and took a moment to kiss him, gently and sweetly on the mouth. “You’ll have to dance for me again, sometime,” he said, thoughtfully. “Hm. I understand there’s to be a ball, soon …” 

“Oh, please,” Felix groaned, pushing him away. “The ball. Please. I’m not even planning to go. Get me my coat.” 

Laughing, Dimitri stood on unsteady legs. “Our star dancer!” he exclaimed, mournfully. “You won’t even consider it?” He held out his hand. 

“Absolutely not,” Felix muttered, eyeing him warily before he took it. Dimitri helped him up, grinning at the way Felix stumbled forward against him, like his legs could hardly carry him. Good. “I’ve done enough dancing for a lifetime, I think.” 

“Such a shame,” Dimitri sighed. “Ah, but surely… for me…?” He blinked down at him, fluttering his lashes. 

Felix rolled his eyes, and pushed him gently away. “My coat,” he repeated. Dimitri swallowed another bout of laughter and turned to retrieve it. “And close your pants,” Felix advised him, sternly. “Gods. I --” he cut off into a wide, jaw-cracking yawn. “I cannot believe you left me waiting like that,” he complained. 

Dimitri draped his coat over his shoulders, and then, impulsively, leaned in to kiss him, again. Felix complied with minimal complaining, his lips soft and his mouth hot and yielding, utterly at odds with his words and tone. 

“You didn’t answer the question,” Dimitri pointed out, innocently. 

Felix narrowed his eyes up at him, and made a considering sound. “We’ll see,” he said. 

Which was, in Dimitri’s experience, as good as agreement. He draped an arm over Felix’s shoulders, and pulled him in close. “Come back to my room,” he murmured, dragging a thumb over the line of his jaw. 

Felix blinked up at him, something unbearably soft there in his eyes and then gone in a blink. He was getting better at catching those little glimpses, Dimitri thought. He treasured each and every one. Felix pushed his hand away, and tightened his jaw. “Help me clean this mess,” he said, indicating the rug under their feet, “And maybe I’ll consider it.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, Lord Fraldarius,” Dimitri said, laughing as Felix shoved him away from him, hard. “But I suppose the request is reasonable. We can’t have you cleaning, dressed like that…” 

Felix pulled his coat tight around him, glaring fiercely. “Never mind,” he said. “You can clean this up yourself, and I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe. If I feel like it.” 

“Felix,” Dimitri sighed, a fond little smile settling onto his face. “Thank you.” 

He ducked his head, but he couldn’t hide the way his ears flushed, pink as his face. “You’re welcome,” he muttered, barely audible. “Dimitri. Now -- pick up that bottle, damn you, let’s go.” 

Laughing, he turned to comply. His chest felt so full, yet somehow light, and not for the first time, tremulous possibilities spiralled out before him. Whatever came next, surely, with Felix at his side… 

Everything else would follow, somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter: [@landofsmthsmth](https://twitter.com/landofsmthsmth)


End file.
